


eclipsing binaries

by Victorionious



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Memory Loss, POV Second Person, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-08 00:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11634933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victorionious/pseuds/Victorionious
Summary: Taako gets a minute to mourn before everything kind of happens all at once.





	eclipsing binaries

**Author's Note:**

> Slight alteration on the timeline. AU where Taako had five minutes to grieve after getting his memories back, basically. 
> 
> Also shoutout to Emma and Lexie for saving my life with this basically. Y'all are the real heroes here.
> 
> Update 11/18/2017: I'm still totally planning on finishing this i just haven't had a chance to listen to the last ep of the balance arc yet!!! i will undoubtedly be working on it shortly after that. Thanks for all the feedback and kudos, y'all are GREAT!

>   _For the majority of the lifetime of the stars in a binary, both stars just spin around each other, burning their own hydrogen and orbiting tranquilly. However, unless the two stars are exactly the same size when they’re formed (not generally the case), then one star will run out of hydrogen before the_ other, _and will transform into a red giant star._
> 
> _-“[ What happens when one star in a binary turns into a red giant?” ](https://astroquizzical.com/astroquizzical/when-you-have-a-binary-star-system-with-the-stars)_

 

 " _Don’t - don’t think too far ahead-”_

 

* * *

 

The first clear memory you can recall, where the sky is blue and there’s nothing beyond time blurring any details, is firing a spell at a man who is _pleading with you_ , and you feel a flash of familiarity as he smiles at you and falls. You killed him. He even asked for it. But _you_ did it. It becomes just another day in your life, faded a little around the edges as everything else does, but it still sticks sharply in all the wrong places.

In the months that followed, there were days where you woke up with a hole in your chest. You still got up, you still got dressed, you still looked _fucking great_ if you do say so yourself - which you did at the time, loudly, pointing finger guns at yourself in the mirror. It felt... _wrong,_ though, as it always did when you looked at yourself too closely, like there was static in the back of your memory. You moved on, then, eyes skirting past the mirror like it was broken.

 _Sizzle It Up_ happened like magic, and not the kind you could ever cast. “I’m Taako, you know, from _TV,_ ” comes out of your mouth with ease, like you’d said it dozens of times before the show had even started. Your crew is _amazing_ , but you keep them at arm’s length. Intimacy is terrifying in ways you attribute to years of being alone. Can’t lose people if you don’t have them to begin with, after all.

The sense of loss that reverberated in your chest periodically through the rest of your time before the Bureau of Balance confused you, sometimes. After losing everything you had left in Glamor Springs you… drifted. The ache was pushed down, down, under layers of things you did your best not to think about, but it was everpresent.

Along the way, you met some people, some strange and wonderful people that some buried and broken part of you - a part you thought had died, long before even Glamor Springs - inexorably wanted to _trust_. And now, years later, you’ve lost (again) at a shitty mockery of a game show, and when you look in the mirror, something’s capital-w Wrong. There’s static in the focus it takes to maintain Disguise Self, and something buzzes in the back of your head. It’s fucked, and there’s something you’re missing, something _big_ , and you know it but you can’t even think about long enough to identify it.

 

* * *

 

_"There were seven of us."_

 

* * *

 

Barry had told you, once, when he was helping you _both_ do some outreach for Captain Davenport, early on, before the _Starblaster_ and the Hunger, that you had some kind of star quality. He’d said it jokingly, like Barry knew a goddamn thing about stars or their quality, outside of the span of them and their make as they lay suspended in the sky, be it by gravity or by magic. It still echoed in your head during your stint on television, but you never could remember who had said it, what their voice even sounded like.

Why Barry’s voice had always been so familiar, even when you’d met him for the first-second- _third_ time, is a realization that occurs about half an hour after the entire pillowcase full of bricks that is _Lup_ hits you like a freight train, missing piece slotting into place and crumbling into dust at the same time. The knowledge of your sister, of losing your sister, is like ripping off a scab you didn't even know was there. The memory of the skeleton, and where exactly you got your umbra staff, is a _sharp_ stab in the chest, and you can’t entirely think through the pain that pierces you.

 That first day, the day you’d killed _Barry_ \-- fucking _Barry_  -- wasn’t the day you’d lost her, in the traditional sense. It was, however, the day you _lost_ her, the first day that felt vivid in your mind, for a long time; everything before it had been a blur until you poured yourself a glass of plot-relevant tentacle juice.

You’re underwater. You keep your feet but the world around you blurs to nothing but the inescapable knowledge that Lup _died_ , probably not long after she left you. Her skeleton had looked at you, _right at you_. You found her and you were at least a decade too late to do anything about it, even if you had known, if you had remembered.

A _decade_ of feeling vitally misplaced is contextualized alongside at least five broken mirrors _(what’s thirty-five more years of bad luck?)_ that you could never recall breaking. As the glamour you’d cast fades away, you realize maybe _you_ weren’t the reason the mirror was always so _fucking_ wrong. But you don’t look like Lup did anymore. Her memory has lines under its eyes and less artfully, more haphazardly placed freckles. You look like her less-pretty older brother, and that’s _wrong_ because Lup is seven minutes older than you, and your identical twin, but she’s also at least ten years dead.

You lost her but you also _lost_ her, and then you lost her still one more time before you finally got any amount of her back and the metaphorical hole you’ve carried with you for years has engulfed you so entirely, it’s hard to breathe around it.

 

* * *

 

  _“You’re why I got here, and I’m why you got here, and that’s something that can’t be broken or lost or taken away. It’s always going to be so important.”_

 

* * *

 

Someone is saying something, you think. Or maybe it’s just that the silence has become too deafening to bear. Either way, you raise your umbra staff at the one identifiable target in the room that you can directly blame for one of those losses.

“Ten,” is what comes out of your mouth, your voice breaking. You’re not sure what’s going to happen if you get to one, but you’re not going to pretend that you’re not hoping someone will stop you. You don’t really have enough energy for that. It’s a little jarring when Magnus ‘rushes in,’ pointing his— _your_ —sword at Lucretia, and it’s also kind of insulting, if you’re being honest. You’re not doing the right thing to begin with over here, you can’t really deal with Magnus jumping in on your pain parade without a license.

Lucretia’s pleading, you think, and offering up some kind of explanation that probably makes sense to everyone else, but it’s just vowels, consonants, words dancing together and you remember her, now, remember trusting her and loving her and you… disconnect.

It’s over, you realize, without much more effort. Magnus tries talking to you, and you just, you _can’t_. You can’t even _focus_ on anything other than the overwhelming emptiness in your chest. You lower the umbrella, the only tangible thing you have _left_ of your sister now that you no longer even have your own _face_ , as the utter futility of the situation sinks in with no lacking of finality.

Davenport’s solution doesn’t hit home as much as he’d probably expected, given how earnestly he’s looking in your direction. Even if you succeeded—Lup’s a _lich_. She hasn’t shown up by now, and the possibilities of what could’ve happened to her are _endless._ Even if you did get her back, there’s no saying what you would be _getting back._

The other, less cowardly, more practical issue is that, well, Lucretia’s the only one knows where the _Starblaster_ is. And you’ll never get it from her, if she cares about this plan half as much as you’re pretty damn sure she does. It wouldn’t be that easy, and the small part of you that can still care knows you wouldn’t be able to go through with it even if you _could_ , because Angus is _looking_ at you.

“Are… you okay, sir?”

You laugh and take what pride you can at the fact that it’s only a little wet. “Just peachy, pumpkin,” you reply, and you remember the time that your umbrella actively wrote your sister’s name on the wall, _destroying_ Angus’s cookies, but you can’t—quite— _focus_ on it, it’s too big of a concept and you’re missing something again, something really fucking obvious, and you can’t blame the voidfish for this one.

What you can focus on is Angus’s face. He’s so young, and the idea of leaving him hurts you more than you’d like to admit. The idea of him dying, or being consumed by The Hunger, is beyond thinking about. It tastes like betrayal, like choosing him over Lup, but it’s not like the choice was there to begin with. You put your hand on his head and ruffle his hair a little bit, but you can’t bring yourself to smile. “Thank you,” you say, and when Angus blinks at you in confusion, you shake your head. You’re not sure why you said it, either. It feels true, though.

Carey and Killian are kicking up a fuss, demanding for _someone_ to explain what just _happened_. You bow out of that, unable to imagine how to explain a century worth of memories hitting you all at once to a third party. Merle, Lucretia, and Davenport take up that helm, Davenport pushing the _Starblaster_ issue further. You don’t really have it in you to wish _any_ of them luck.

Magnus and Barry, however, approach you and Angus. Barry looks solemn, weight of the memories pressing down on him, likely with similar strength as your own.

“I know this doesn’t mean much, considering,” Magnus says, placing a large hand on your shoulder and leaving it there, “but we lost her too. We’ll never understand exactly specifically what you’re going through, but. Yeah.” Barry makes eye contact with you and nods, eyes shining with tears.

“Yeah,” you reply, and your grip on the umbrella tightens. “You’re looking a bit less wooden,” you say quickly, hoping the subject change will stick.

Magnus laughs sharply. “Yeah. Even had most of my memories intact—only ones missing were the ones Junior ate. So that was a relief.”

“Makes sense,” Barry points out. Magnus’s hand is still on your shoulder, you notice obliquely, but you don’t comment on it. “A whole bunch of my life and like, general _being_ , was erased by the fish. So it like, makes a lot of sense why there were so many gaps. Couldn’t remember anything from when I was a lich because then I’d have to remember I _was_ a lich, _why_ I was a lich, _her_ , whole nine yards.” Barry pauses for a moment, then shakes his head with a frown. “God, Taako, like, I couldn’t remember my soul was no longer outright attached to my body. I really can’t imagine what it must’ve been like not remembering like, _any_ of your childhood, probably.”

Your expression feels a little bit frozen. “It’s not so much that,” you admit neutrally. “It’s more, uh, the foundation was there but the execution was what was a little wonky, which doesn’t really make a hell of a lotta sense out loud if we’re being real here but, well, whatever dude.”

You wish they’d stop looking at you like that, like you were about to break, like this was a new development and you hadn’t been fracturing for over a decade.

 

* * *

 

_“You found her. Maybe not how you expected to, but when you weren’t looking you found her. That’s how strong your connection is to Lup.”_

 

* * *

 

You let out a wry laugh and twirl the umbra staff in your hand, mentioning, as casually as possible, shoulder shrugging under Magnus’s hand a little bit, “Fuck, I just keep thinking, like, we’re not identical anymore, y’know?” Your voice still comes out a little broken.

Magnus had been smiling, sadly but sympathetically. At your words, his face freezes. You feel his hand on your shoulder tense. He stares at you, eyes flickering over every _changedbadwrongugly_ feature and, the half-smile you have plastered on not-your-face falters, just for a second, and Magnus looks utterly horrified.

“It’s no big deal, my dude. Not your fault, nothing you could’ve done, not your job to think of all the implications,” you say, and hope the others either don’t notice or choose to ignore the false note in your too-level voice. “It’s just—that was a hard sacrifice to take just with my own standard issues, I didn’t even _realize_ what I was really giving up, there.”

Your voice cracks, and you don’t know why you’re letting yourself say it. Maybe because it’s the easiest part of the situation that you can pick apart right now, all things considered. Magnus is making some _fucking sad ass_ puppy dog eyes at you, like he’s a golden retriever and someone just murdered his entire family in front of him or something, which isn’t that far from the truth _anyway_ , but that one’s neither here nor there. (You remember his eyes without the constant lingering pain and wonder if he’s thinking the same thing about you.) Barry, to his credit, remains silent, and you try not to wonder what he must be thinking, seeing a destroyed echo of someone he loves.

“I—” Magnus takes a breath, stares at the ceiling, and looks back at you with new resolve. “I know you’re not going to like hearing this, Taako, but I need to say it, so here it is: I’m _so_ fucking sorry. I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m sorry you didn’t get to mourn after we found her. I’m sorry there’s nothing to bury, that we didn’t get a chance to hold a proper funeral for her, which means so much in the long run, trust me on that one.”

You blink at him a few times, too tired to really feel taken aback. “Uh, pretty sure you’re not responsible for any of that shit, but okay.”

“I’m _also_ sorry that I didn’t push harder, during the sacrifices,” Magnus continues, pretending you hadn’t spoken. “It was fucking you up, I knew that, and it was like—Merle didn’t give up his kids, I thankfully was never asked to give up anything that mattered too much to me-” and you and Barry make nervous eye contact, at that, but don’t say anything as Magnus barrels on, “—and I even got my age and my pinky back, so that’s pretty sweet! But you? Like, it wasn’t _just_ your beauty. We should’ve known it wasn’t _just_ your beauty, not at that stage of the game. Not that if it was solely vanity based it would be any less of a struggle for you or any less valid of a struggle, I already explained to you how I feel about that. But just—we— _I_ should’ve suspected there was more to it than that.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even done talking. “No, nah, nope, you’re wrong on that, dude. We all gave up some shit. It was luck of the fucking draw. I uh, well, I’d like to _think_ I’d have taken the sacrifice anyway, but I mean, hey,” you laugh weakly, energy draining out of you even as you do so. “I’m _Taako_ , who the fuck knows with me.”

Magnus shakes his head, this time. “I wouldn’t have let you.”

“You couldn’t have _stopped me_ ,” you bite back, beyond ready for this conversation to end. “What would I have done? Given it to Merle? To you? What else could you two have spared at that fucking point, dude? What if you’d rolled time again? Or if Merle had lost his other fucking eye? Nah, okay, like, I can live with not being 100% identical to my dead twin, I can _live_ with that, because we all are _alive_ and not _dead_ like we almost fucking were. I can _handle_ using a spell slot every fucking day of my life to make me look like her again. Looking in the mirror has fucked with me for _years_ because of that goddamn mcfucking voidfish—do you know what it’s _like_ to feel static _every time you see your reflection?_ So that’s a relief at least?” You take a breath, and lower your voice—you hadn’t really realized you’d raised it, but Lucretia’s expression across the room gives you an idea of your volume. _“You_ don’t get to blame yourself for this one, pal.”

“Well,” Magnus says sternly. “You don’t either.”

 

* * *

 

  _“I wouldn’t have made it here without you.”_

 

* * *

 

“Besides,” you say, against your better judgement, “it’s not like it’s gonna matter that much in a minute anyway.”

“What the _hell_ do you mean by that?” Barry demands, but your timing turns out to be _impeccable_ as the glass ceiling shatters, cutting the conversation short just in time.

You fight and you _fight_ , and it could’ve been the last stand you were lowkey hoping for, but you all are _way_ too good. The group of you, especially Merle and Magnus, had been formidable to begin with, but now that you remember an entire century’s worth of training—you’re fucking _unstoppable_.

Angus gets thrown back, and your heart almost stops. He’s so small, compared to the rest of you. You’re terrified until he gets back up again, shaky but in one piece, and find yourself briefly amazed you can still feel _fear_ like that after all you’ve lost. That _remembering_ all you’ve lost hasn’t ruined how much you care about that kid. He grabs your umbrella— _Lup’s_ umbrella—frantically asking if it’s okay, and somehow you _know_ it is, that there’s not really anyone else _either_ of you would’ve let use it.

That _fireball_ though, the one Angus casts—no, not Angus, you realize with a start, the last missing piece finally slotting into place as you take your sister’s beloved umbrella back, look at it for a second, and then break it in half across your knee.

The split second you were sure you’d spend regretting the unnecessary destruction of what is not only a dope ass wand but also the last tangible thing you have of Lup’s is instead spent flying through the air. Your back hits the floor and everything is dark and everything _hurts_ and you think for a second, this is it, this is _finally_ it, you’ve pushed your luck one time too many and it’s the end of the fucking road. But then... your eyes open.

And there she is.

 

* * *

 

  _“I know this journey’s been hard, and it’s only going to get harder, but we can’t allow ourselves to— to get to that place again.”_

 

* * *

 

The two of you had been so insular for _so_ long.

There were other people, other friends, mostly on Lup’s end. You’d never been able to connect as easily as she had, on a personal, long-term level.

 _Sizzle It Up With Taako_ had offered you the first real significant experience you’d had with connecting on a different level that was still very personal, but less… intimate. Fans are not friends, however, and you finally have the clarity of mind to realize that you’d been _so alone for so long_.

Lup, simply put, was home. You like to think the sentiment was reciprocated, and you have more than enough evidence to back up the hypothesis, more than any measure of self-doubt could erase. It was one thing, to have thought that you’d grown up without it, that you’d materialized fully-formed into the sardonic bitter mess of an elf you are, but to know that there was this undercurrent, that you weren’t _always like this,_ that you’d always been cynical but you were also tied at the hip to an eternal optimist who had been through almost every single thing you had been through along the way–

The things you’ve done without her—contextualized, the judgement rained down by the inhabitants of that _hell_ cycle? You deserved it. Davenport, Magnus, Merle, Barry, and Lup? They didn’t. They paid, in part, for crimes you went on to commit _anyway_. 

While you never could remember most of what the judges had accused you of, words thrown left and right, the one about showing cruelty to a child who loved you... that one had stuck in your mind, and you've finally lived enough to have it contextualized. That you were punished even for the way you’d treated Angus means something that is… hard to articulate. Lup would hate it, if she knew. You _stole_ from him, and you never did give it all the way back. You have cared about that child _fiercely_ , and, especially recently, there have been days where you think Caring About Him might be the only thing holding you together, but you _remember now_ _,_ and if even decades ago, some godly judge found your behavior reprehensible, then clearly you were doing a piss poor job of that, on top of everything else.

You know who you are without Lup, now. You don’t think you like that person, very much. You don’t think she’d be very proud of you, either.

 

* * *

 

  _“You are my heart.”_

 

* * *

 

There were a thousand possible things she could’ve said, a thousand criticisms, a thousand declarations of blame that you’ve come to believe you really deserve, but instead she’s… kind. She’s kind and she needles you and it’s all so impossibly _Lup_ that there’s no room for question, for paranoia, for denial.

She’s in her lich form, understandably, so it’s hard to recognize her as _herself_ but you’ve seen it enough times that it’s not really a problem. You can’t question the fact that it’s her. It’s Lup. It’s your sister.

She’s _back_.

**Author's Note:**

> There'll be at least one more chapter. It's in the works. Stay tuned.


End file.
